


If The Pieces Fit

by dragonofdispair



Series: Unrelated Prompt Responses [57]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9051307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: ProwlxJazz Secret Santa Fic: Jazz tries to help, but he doesn't know how.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ProwlxJazz Livejournal Community Secret Santa. The original prompt ([here](http://prowlxjazz.livejournal.com/974879.html?thread=4214047#t4214047)) was:
> 
> Prowl and Jazz are both really good at helping each other out - whenever one of them really needs help with something, the other anticipates what they need and just does it, unasked. Then, one day, one of them notices that the other is bothered by something, but they don't know what it is. They want to help, but they don't know how. This time they have to actually talk about things, get the secret out in the open, and acknowledge how much the each rely on each other. What the secret breaking point is and whether those feelings are romantic or platonic are up to the author.

Jazz didn’t know what was wrong but there was  _ something _ wrong. No one else would notice but, Prowl had his worried, harried, scruchie-face of doom, but Jazz couldn’t figure out why. He’d checked  _ everywhere _ and there was  _ nothing _ that should be making Prowl do the scrunchie-face of doom!

Decepticons were, of course, always the first suspects when Prowl started doing the face. So when Jazz had ruled out (read “fixed”) all the normal things like excess paperwork and various issues around the  _ Ark, _ Jazz had disappeared (without authorization, but whatever; forgiveness and permission and all) for a week to do some reconnaissance.

And what had he found? Nothing!

Well… Not  _ literally _ nothing. If the Decepticons had all disappeared into thin air, that would have more than enough reason for Prowl to be doing the scrunchie-face of doom. (Though Jazz would have had to reevaluate his lack of belief in truly supernatural abilities, and, specifically, Prowl’s possession of such, given that it would’ve taken clairvoyance of some flavor to be making scrunchie faces at something he couldn’t otherwise predict the Decepticons would do. Prowl’s gift at tactics had often  _ looked _ like it was of supernatural origins, but Jazz knew that was was hardly the case.) 

Thankfully for Jazz’s firm position as a skeptic who did not believe bots could do things like predict the future via visions from Primus (except Prime, but he was a special case), the Decepticons were all there. Doing Decepticon-y things. Making plans, fighting, designing superweapons… Jazz introduced a few critical math errors into those, just on general principles. Other than that, Jazz didn’t see anything worth the scrunchie-face of doom, so he headed back, hoping that his lack of theoretical physics level math skills had solved the problem and Prowl could go back to wearing his normal serious face.

But Jazz had slapped the report of his mission, containing all the bickering he’d witnessed, computers he’d hacked, and math errors he’d made, on Prowl’s desk in the middle of the night and the next day at noon (after Prowl would have read it, since Jazz knew Prowl read all his mission reports first thing in the morning -- especially if they hadn’t exactly been authorized missions) Prowl was still wearing the scrunchie face of doom!

In fact, somehow, impossibly, the scrunchie face of doom had  _ gotten worse. _

This…  _ Jazz didn’t know what to do! _

Jazz was frantic. He did all of the paperwork for his entire division and turned it in,  _ on time. _ He tricked the twins into not pulling a prank for the next week. He ran inference between Cliffjumper and… pretty much everyone, actually. Shut down Smokescreen’s gambling ring for a while. He personally redid Ratchet’s entire inventory room  _ and _ acquired the supplies they were low on so Prowl wouldn’t have to worry about it.

(Jazz even got Prime to act like a sensible mech and NOT CHARGE Megatron at the very beginning of three different skirmishes.) 

STILL! Scrunchie face of doom!

What the  _ frag _ was wrong with Prowl?!?

There was absolutely nothing for it. Jazz was going to have to  _ ask. _

It was, in some ways, a very  _ weird _ revelation. Jazz’s steps slowed their determined march towards the  _ Ark’s _ tactical hub as he thought about the last time he’d had to ask Prowl what he needed. Back then, they’d both been new to their fields, roommates, and finding out how well they worked together. They’d each gotten a… sense of what they other needed from the other. There were gaps in their jobs, in their lonely personal lives, they’d just gotten used to filling for each other. Without asking.

The last time Jazz had actually asked what Prowl needed was… a skirmish to take the glassworks outside Altihex. Take the glassworks, if only for a few hours to take some of the plant’s finished shipments. A minor objective, to be true, but a vital one as many medical instruments incorporated glass parts, and the Autobots (being mostly cars) had windshields, mirrors, and other glass body parts that often had to be repaired and replaced.

They’d taken the glassworks and Prowl had immediately ordered everyone to start loading up crates of glass parts before the Decepticons could counterattack. He’d put on a cool facade, but Jazz had seen through his roommate’s mask to the worried frown beneath. Jazz had caught up to him leaning over a map of Altihex and the surrounding area, and asked Prowl what he needed.

“Ten hours,” Prowl had said. 

Ten hours to strip the glassworks of everything useful and retreat. 

Jazz was no tactician, but even he could see on from that map that the Decepticons wouldn’t give them ten hours. Decepticon held Altihex was just too close, ten  _ minutes _ away, as the seeker flies. Prowl had kept the glassworkers from calling for help, taken every straggler prisoner, to keep them from reporting what had happened, to buy them time. But some Decepticons had escaped the net. The seekers would mobilize as soon as they got word.

Still, Jazz hadn’t hesitated. “You got it.”

No one was quite sure  _ what _ had happened that night. The Decepticons had scrambled to repel a major Autobot offensive against Altihex, making the glassworks their lowest priority. Prowl claimed no knowledge at all of any such attack. His unit had been stretched too thin just taking the glassworks; he insisted he’d had nothing to do with it. Jazz knew, but he wasn’t saying. Prowl had had his ten hours and a few more extra to make a clean retreat and gotten promoted over the whole affair.

It was with those thoughts in mind that Jazz let himself into tactical suite and saw Prowl leaning over the planning table with a frown.

“Hey,” Jazz said quietly. He’d intended to come barging in here and demand to know what was wrong (WHY WAS HE MAKING THE SCRUNCHIE FACE OF DOOM!!!), but standing next to Prowl, catching the real frown that had been hidden under his calm facade, made the harsh demand die on his tongue. 

Prowl looked up, composing himself. He composed himself quickly, casually switching the map displayed on the table to something more Earth-like. “Hello. Did you need something?”

“Naw,” Jazz stepped closer, looked over the map and switched it back. Prowl only made the barest twitch in lieu of an attempt to stop him. “But I think you do. What’s this?”

“Laothea IX.”

Jazz watched the simulation play out. He’d gotten better at reading tactical sims, but he was still no expert. He didn’t see anything unusual about this battle. The Autobots, with superior organization, logistics, numbers, and (for once) air superiority, were even winning. A swift victory. But the timestamp on when the sim had been created matched the when Jazz had first noticed something was wrong. “What am I looking at Prowl?” Jazz jumped right onto the question that had brought him there. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Prowl didn’t even try to be convincing, “I just… recognized one of the names on the casualty lists. Gleam. He was on the medical team for the battle.”

Oh. Oh!

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Jazz murmured with feeling, even though he didn’t know the mech. That wasn’t going to stop him from mourning along with his friend. “I can make sure you’ve got the time off to go to the memorial.”

Prowl shook his head. “I shouldn’t. I’m needed here, and we weren’t close. I was just one of probably thousands of people he led through the prayers after Praxus.”

“You ain’t gotta justify your grief,” Jazz insisted. “He was important to you; you should go. Pay your respects. Tell his spark he helped you before it goes to the Well. Mourn.”

Already Jazz was rearranging things to get Prowl the leave he needed. Letting Red Alert do punishment detail for a while would keep the Ark’s pranksters quiet. Smokescreen and Trailbreaker would hate them forever, but they could hold down Prowl’s position for a short while. They’d need Mirage assigned long-term to the  _ Nemesis _ to warn them of anything going on to make up the gap in skill between Prowl and their two other tacticians… but it was doable, for a short while.

Prowl got the notice of the changed schedule and glared briefly at Jazz, but it was half sparked at best.

Jazz just grinned, and pinged Prowl his travel arrangements. “Go. We’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.


End file.
